During a recess of the Continental Congress in Philadelphia in the summer of 1776, John Adams of Massachusetts, Benjamin Franklin of Pennsylvania, and Thomas Jefferson of Virginia stand under the attendance board for the thirteen states. The oldest of the trio, Benjamin Franklin, adjusts his spectacles and recalls how his kite and key led to the discovery of electricity. Then glancing over at manly Adams and handsome Jefferson, Franklin puts an arm around both men while crooning the up-tempo, “You Electrify Me.” After the three men execute a swivel hip jazz dance, Abigail Adams enters, bemoaning her fate in the torch song, “Gay Husband, Sad Life.” The song turns into a lively bump and grind number. As Abigail begins to exit in excited anticipation of a Sappho visit to Martha Jefferson, the remaining members of Congress enter hurrying toward the colonial desks and chairs. Abigail bumps into Rutledge who knocks into Dickinson as the members of Congress hit the deck like falling dominos. Abigail’s wig, hip pads, and falsies fly across the stage.

“Stop!” It’s me Nicky Abbondanza, PhD, which in my case stands for Piping Hot Daddy. All the world’s a stage to me—with me in the spotlight. I’m Professor of Play Directing in picturesque and cozy Treemeadow College in picturesque and cozy Vermont. Treemeadow was named after its gay founders, Tree and Meadow, whose bronze statues line the campus entrance. They are put to great use when pigeons or partying students need to relieve themselves. In case you haven’t read my novels, here’s a little lesson for you Nicky and Noah virgins. I’m tall with dark hair (thanks to hair dye for men), a muscular body (curtesy of the torture chamber known as the gym on campus), emerald eyes (from contact lenses), and a Roman nose (from my Italian-American family back in Kansas). Yes, I truly am a friend of Dorothy’s. Before we go any further, I need to tell you one small thing about myself. Actually, it’s not so small. To the admiration of the other men at the gym, horror of my costumers, and delight of my husband, I have a foot long penis. I mostly keep this tidbit tucked away, however, I’ll admit I’ve used it to my advantage in a couple of my past cases. You see, in addition to directing plays (Drama Queen), musicals (Drama Detective, Drama Faerie, Drama Christmas, Drama Pan), a bodybuilding competition (Drama Muscle), a murder mystery dinner theatre cruise show (Drama Cruise), a Hawaiian luau show (Drama Luau), a ballet (Drama Dance), two movies (Drama Fraternity, Drama Castle), a runway fashion show (Drama Runway), a television pilot (Drama TV), and two theme park shows (Drama Oz, Drama Prince), I’m an armchair—or in my case director’s chair—amateur sleuth. I’m not a professional detective, because unlike our local Detective Jose Manuello, I actually solve my cases. My husband, love of my life, and joy of my heart, Noah Oliver, Associate Professor of Acting (age 41), and I (age 48-grr) met here at Treemeadow College after he was a suspect in my first case. When Noah was found innocent (but not too innocent), we dated, were engaged, married on a cruise ship in Alaska, and during our honeymoon in Maui adopted a little boy (now not so little at age 19), Taavi Kapule Oliver Abbondanza. Noah became the Watson and Taavi the Baker Street Irregular (or Backstreet Boy) to my Sherlock Homo. My husband is absolutely gorgeous with blond hair, azure eyes, a creamy complexion, tall tight body, and a bubble butt like a gymnast executing a floor routine at the Gay Games. When we aren’t in a costume (onstage or off—more on that later), Noah, Taavi, and I wear dress shirts, dress slacks, and blazers. It’s a cool family thing. And our family keeps growing. After one of our cases, we adopted Asterisk, a gray and white bearded collie (age 4). Taavi’s wife Sloane, their baby Nicky Jr., and Asterisk’s husband Tag (a Yorkshire terrier), were later additions to our family, but are currently away visiting Sloane’s aunt in Philadelphia.

Which brings me to why I am wearing a ruffled white shirt, tight violet breeches, and a long waistcoat. When the college president heard Noah and I were staging summer stock shows outside of Treemeadow, he made us an offer we couldn’t refuse—if we wanted to keep our jobs and more importantly keep the honey-colored Victorian home supplied to us by the college. Since the president has a side business selling fireworks, we were ordered to put on a theme-park-like show for the college’s Fourth of July celebration. That led my department head and best friend, Martin Anderson (age ancient), to write an original one-act musical based on the signing of the Declaration of Independence called, I Do Declare, and to cast himself in the plum role of Abigail Adams. Martin cast his husband, Ruben Markinson (age equally ancient), as the aging Benjamin Franklin in addition to producer and props coordinator. When I threatened to steal Martin’s three D’s (dentures, diapers, and dildo), I was cast as John Adams and the play’s director. When my son, Taavi, and Martin and Ruben’s adopted son, Ty Wilde Anderson Markinson (age 18), heard about the show, they threatened to call the battered child’s hotline if they weren’t cast as the Couriers. Knowing that murder follows me like a priest follows a new altar boy learning to genuflect, my nemesis, Detective Jose Manuello (age who cares?), begged me to give him a role in the show. I selected King George III—the tyrant. Speaking of begging, Asterisk ran around in circles, like a member of Congress trying to pass a law, until I cast him as the king’s pet Georgie. The broke and vacationless theatre faculty and students on campus filled the remaining roles and technical positions. Professor of Music Hank Tobias (age born before Christ) was cast as old and infirm Caesar Rodney from Delaware. Hank’s daughter, Maggie (age 40 for the fourth year) agreed to do the costumes. Hank’s graduate assistant, hunky Sami Zaman, pitched in (pun intended) as musical director and Edward Rutledge of South Carolina. Adorable Assistant Professor of Dance Haku Yamato did a double timestep as choreographer and John Dickinson of Pennsylvania. Handsome theatre majors Hector Alvarez and Philippe Laurent took on the roles of George Washington and his French lover Guy Raffleur III, renaming the father of our country: a French Connection. The remaining students took on the additional roles and technical positions—including the boys in the band nestled cozily in the orchestra pit. One last note. Think of this little story as Nicky and Noah lite—in the loafers. For the full Nicky and Noah experience, you need to read the novels!

So here I am center stage at the burgundy Treemeadow College Theatre on the morning of our final technical dress rehearsal. The time when directors take notes—and valium—while putting last minutes changes into the show—and their wills. “Cast, please go over your entrances and exits. Set crew, please repair the set. Maggie, please do damage control on the costumes and set décor.” Lighting crew, please hit me over the head with a lighting instrument and put me out of my misery.

The cast and crew raced around the stage faster than Jehovah’s Witnesses at a new housing development. As I texted more notes to the cast and crew than in a Wagnerian opera score read by someone with double vision, an angel of mercy appeared behind me, wrapped his long arms around my sweaty waist, and kissed my quivering cheek. “The show is going to be fine, Nicky.”

“That’s what the Titanic’s orchestra leader said.” I spun around to face my loving husband.

“We’re always a hit, onstage and off.” Noah kissed one of my long sideburns. “How’s my John Adams?”

“In need of a hug from his Thomas Jefferson.”

After we hugged, I reached under my shirt and pulled out a gold chained locket. Opening it, I read the engraved inscription, “To John Adams, All my love, Thomas Jefferson.”

“Do you like it, Nicky?”

“I love it.” I felt my pulse lower to two hundred. “What did I ever do to deserve you, Noah?”

“A decade ago, you proved I was innocent.”

“And now I’m not so sure.”

Noah giggled. As I closed and replaced the locket, he said, “You look sexy in your John Adams suit.”

“And you’re a fetching Thomas Jefferson in soft powder blue.”

We shared a wet and wonderful kiss. I enjoyed the familiar taste of the man I love, as I ran my fingers through his long golden locks and took in the luscious scent of his strawberry shampoo. “I adore you, Noah Oliver.”

“And I adore you right back, Nicky Abbondanza.”

After sharing another kiss, I came back to reality. “Noah, the show opens tomorrow night for July 4, and we aren’t ready.”